Withdrawals
by gh0stb0y
Summary: There is more to Bella and Rosalie's tumultuous relationship than meets the eye. A collection of oneshots related to my other fic, Addiction. Rosalie/Bella.
1. First Look

**hello! this fic is a collection of extra, isolated side stories and flashbacks for my other AU fic, Addiction. most of these probably won't make much sense if you haven't read Addiction first.**

 **overall trigger warning: this fic contains mentions of self-harm, attempted suicide, child abuse, and alcohol abuse. these are all running themes present throughout the entire fic.** **as for content warnings, this fic contains a lot of mild horror elements and, at times, graphic depictions of violence and gore. these moments are few and far between, but they are there.**

 **i think that covers everything? if you decide to keep reading, i hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Silence. So clear and so unusual, it stood out from all the noise surrounding it.

Edward had gotten used to the sound of other's thoughts. Not that they no longer bothered him—he was just used to them. He was used to the constant bombardment of everyone's innermost feelings. His world was almost never quiet. Even at home, he was subject to his family's ruminations. They were aware of this, and he would often hear things he wasn't supposed to, or things he would have rather not heard.

It was only through music that he achieved silence. That, and drink. A good combination of both would tune out everything. Alcohol to interfere with his own mind, and music to drown out everyone else's.

Shamefully, he was not immune to curiosity. He was as nosy as any other. In fact, his gift had made him nosier than anyone else. Edward had grown accustomed to knowing what was on everyone's mind; when something was being withheld from him, he would grow frustrated and impatient. Instant gratification, but on a whole other level.

 _That_ was why he was so interested in her, her silence. Everyone around her was broadcasting their opinions straight into his brain, but she remained quiet. No illumination. Who was she? What was she doing here? Why was she here? He could glean some of this information from the people she was talking to, but she remained an enigma. He could not ascertain her dark secrets, the things she thought but left unsaid. It bothered him so much that he was almost compelled to go up and talk to her, but he was far too afraid for that. Besides, being antisocial was part of their image. He couldn't break form like this just because of one human. One very interesting and very strange human.

"What's got you all worked up?"

Edward was startled out of his trance at the sound of his sister's voice. It was not often that Rosalie spoke directly to him on purpose. For a second, he wasn't even sure that she had spoken aloud, but the use of "you" instead of "him" signified that she was directly addressing him. It could still be in his head, but when he looked up at her, she was staring down at him, arms crossed.

"It's... nothing. I guess," he said, tapping the screen of his locked phone with his thumbs. "I don't know. The new girl over there, Chief Swan's kid. She's giving me radio silence."

"You can't read her mind?" Rose asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Not one bit. I've never seen anything like this before. It's…" He took a moment to search for the right word. Upsetting? Infuriating? No. Just… "Odd."

Rosalie's eyes shifted from side to side. She tapped her foot for a moment before looking back down at him.

"Which girl?"

Edward smirked. He found comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one interested in this human.

"Long, brown hair. Dark circles. Standing with Jessica's group. You'll pick her out. She's the only one you've never met before."

Rose didn't turn around immediately. She wasn't sure if she was that interested in seeing this anomaly of a human, if it was worth giving her attention to this unusual mortal. But then, Edward leaned over and elbowed her shin.

"She's staring at you," he said quietly. "What on earth is she thinking?"

Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

When Rosalie turned around, she didn't have time to form any opinion of the human. She instantly locked eyes with the girl. Her warm, brown eyes were the first thing Rose saw—she felt like they were planets, suddenly aligning.

The girl was slightly shorter than her, with messy brown hair and dark circles under her eyes as Edward had described. She looked permanently exhausted, though she seemed very awake (startled, even) as she stared back at Rosalie.

Time seemed to slow between them. Rosalie felt her siblings melt away as if they no longer mattered, no longer existed. The humans around the girl faded out as well. Rose had tunnel vision; the only thing she could see was this human girl, who was staring back at her, mirroring her expression of shock? Surprise? She couldn't name the feeling. She felt a pull in her chest, drawing her towards the girl—or was the universe _pushing_ her? She couldn't tell. And she didn't want to know.

Abruptly, she turned around, careful not to show the human any emotion, but she let her siblings see the panic in her eyes as her hand flew to her chest, grasping at her dead heart, at the intangible line that was now connecting her to that girl.

Edward already knew what was happening.

"Rose, did you just...?"

She raised a hand to silence him. The others look at her, confused.

"We need to leave. Now," she said, her voice shaky.

"But they have skee-ball in the gym! I didn't get to play yet!" Emmett protested.

"No. We're leaving. We have to leave," she said, her voice firm.

As Rosalie started to walk away, Alice's eyes glazed over. Edward was now on his feet, hands in his pockets, staring at Alice as he saw what she saw, absorbing her vision as it happened. His only reaction was a widening of his eyes.

"Rosalie-!" he began again.

"No!" she hissed. "Let's go home."

Rosalie stormed off, not even checking to see if her siblings were following her. She made a beeline towards the parking lot. The entire time, she felt that pull, just a slight tug on her frozen heart, tempting her to turn around and run over to the girl, to introduce herself, to connect with her.

She could not allow that. She could _never_ allow that.

Rosalie arrived at the Volvo before Edward had even unlocked it. She stood outside, hand on the door handle until she heard the lock click as he approached with the keys. She flung open the passenger's side door and sat down as everyone else piled into the back. A concerned Edward looked at her as he started up the car and put on some music to diffuse the tension she was creating.

"Rose-" he said, trying a third time.

"No."

She refused to acknowledge it. She shut him down before he could say anything. Both he and Alice knew now, and Rosalie was sure that her sister had whispered something to their brothers to make them aware of the situation at hand. She balled her hands into tight fists. She was angry—at Edward, at Alice, at herself.

But not at the girl. _Never_ at the girl.

As Edward pulled out onto the main road, Rosalie closed her eyes and put a hand on her forehead. It was already hurting her. Edward anxiously looked back and forth between his sister and the road. She grit her teeth and groaned quietly.

Edward knew he had to do something, anything to ease the pain. He knew she would hate him for it, but he had to.

"Bella," he said softly. "Her name is Bella. Isabella Swan. But she goes by Bella."

Rosalie felt a warmth within her, a warmth she had never felt in all her years of this life. It was euphoric. She knew she wanted more. She knew the truth, the truth that she was going to try her hardest to ignore, to run away from.

It was love, and it was an addiction.

* * *

 **ever since i started writing Addiction, i've had a lot of ideas for other scenes and moments that didn't end up making it into the fic. i wanted to share them, though, so Withdrawals was born! i'm kicking it off with a fairly short one, a little peek into rosalie's side of things when she first sees bella. this isn't going to entirely be a midnight sun-esque ordeal; there's a lot of parts of the AU cullens' histories that i want to elaborate on and a few fun moments from the present action of the fic that i want to write out. each chapter is going to be a one shot, and there won't be any chronology to them. i'm just writing them as i come up with them.**

 **as always, thanks for reading!**


	2. In the Beginning

He reeks of alcohol. Consistently. For this reason, Rosalie can't bear to be around him for more than a few minutes. It reminds her.

Carlisle told her that Edward could read minds. If so, how could he do this to her? How could he walk around, drunk out of his mind, and think that it wasn't an issue? How could he come near her when he was like this? She very quickly grew to hate him, thinking him insensitive and cruel. She had already been through one hell, and now she was forced to live in another. The real horror was that this one was never going to end.

When she awoke into this new life after having suffered through unimaginable pain, the first thing she remembered seeing was him, Edward, viciously yelling at Carlisle. She didn't know if he was drunk then or not, but it didn't matter. As her vision cleared, she saw him gesticulating wildly, face contorted in pure anger, screaming at his sire.

"—what on earth made you think this was a good idea? Huh? What part of this seemed like it was okay?"

"Edward, please, calm down. We can discuss this in a civil manner."

"No! This is bullshit!" he screeched, jabbing a finger in Rosalie's direction. "I can't believe you would do this!"

She slowly sat up on her elbows, staring wide-eyed at the two men. The burning pain that had been coursing through her veins for the past few days (she had no idea exactly how long it had been—everything was a blur) had begun to subside, replaced by a bizarre coldness, a chill that permeated her entire body but did not make her feel cold. She had no idea what was happening. Carlisle noticed that she was awake, and he shushed Edward, rushing over to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Rosalie opened her mouth to speak but lost her words when she felt a new burn in her throat, a dryness that needed to be alleviated as quickly as possible.

"W-water," she croaked, putting a hand to her chest.

Carlisle's concerned expression fell into one of mournful sadness.

"No, not water," he said, his voice low. "You don't need water."

Behind him, Edward snarled and turned sharply, marching off towards the stairs. Rosalie was shocked when she realized she could hear every single step he took as he ascended and even his quiet, disgruntled mumbling after he slammed shut the door to his room. As she looked around, she saw every dust mote in the air and all the minute details of the room around her, right down to the individual threads in the carpet. When she looked at Carlisle, she knew something was off, that something was _wrong_ with him, but she had no word for it. And, as she stared at his face—a face far too perfect, without a single flaw—she began to feel that something was wrong with her, too.

When Rosalie realized she wasn't breathing, she went into a panic. Carlisle called out for his wife.

Esme was the one person she truly trusted. She had been the one who took care of her, who cared about her. Rosalie understood this to be because of her similar background. About a day into her new life, Esme told her about her ex-husband and how she had died and ended up like this. It was comforting, but also upsetting, as her story had somewhat of a happy ending with Carlisle. Rosalie had no such comforts. She only had Edward, who she hated.

He came and went without letting anyone know where he was going or what he was doing. Rose often heard him arguing with Carlisle. These altercations were always defused by Esme, partially because she knew they upset Rosalie, and partially because she cared for both Carlisle and Edward and hated to see them fight. No one discussed these quarrels with Rosalie though she knew they were about her and could hear them very clearly; there was almost no privacy in this household. Though she didn't like him, she understood why Edward left so often.

But his constant inebriation whenever he was around had grown unbearable for Rosalie. The scent of alcohol wafting throughout the house evoked memories of Royce. Painful, agonizing memories that sent her spiraling and caused her to lock herself in her room, away from the world, trying to pretend that nothing else existed. She would huddle up in the corner of her bed, holding her knees to her chest, body racked by sobs but unable to produce any tears. That was the cruelest joke of this new life: she could no longer cry. There was no release, no catharsis, no way for her to "let it all out".

So, she decided to talk to Esme.

"I can't stand him," she says. "I know he dislikes me, but he must truly be awful to behave like this. I can't… I can't be around him. He… Royce…"

Esme frowns and puts a hand on her shoulder. Her touch is light and gentle, as if Rosalie was a fragile thing on the brink of shattering.

"Oh, dear… I know it must be very hard, and I can't excuse his behavior, but it's also very hard for us to control him. Edward has had… a rough patch, so to speak. Saying that we all have skeletons in our closets isn't the best way to put it, but he…" She trails off as if she's afraid to say something, to acknowledge its existence. "He's not doing this to antagonize you, trust me. He has a problem. A problem that has nothing to do with you, but it is quite despicable of him to do this when I'm sure he knows it's… bothering you."

To say that it was bothering Rosalie was an understatement. Everywhere he went, Edward left behind a trail of his scent, touched by the stench of liquor. When he walked through a room, it was poisoned for at least a day. Rosalie spent most of her time in her room and asked Carlisle to buy her perfumes to cover up the scent. The stuff she sprayed smelled almost as bad, but it overpowered the smell of the alcohol.

Every whiff of it reminded her. It wasn't as fresh in her mind as it would've been if she was still human; the change had taken from her clarity of the event. Now, she saw most of her human life through a blurry filter. Sometimes, she wished that the shock of it all had taken everything from her, made her an amnesiac. Most of the time, though, she was glad she could remember. She was formulating a plan for her revenge.

What Esme had been too afraid (too ashamed?) to tell her was that Edward had returned home from a four-year killing spree just a few years prior to her joining them. But there were no secrets in this house, and she found out on her own soon enough. Straight from the horse's mouth, in fact.

He comes home one night, reeking of booze, drunk out of his mind. Carlisle and Esme are gone, out on a date. They hadn't expected him to return while they were gone, but he is entirely unpredictable. Rosalie finds herself afraid when she hears his irregular, intoxicated gait. She has to remind herself that she's no longer defenseless. She has power now, she has strength, even if it's cursed. She could easily take this gangly, drunk boy if he tried anything. Couldn't she?

In the middle of her panic, she hears a great crash. _Great, now he's broken something,_ she thinks. She decides it's best to go make sure he doesn't destroy anything else, so she creeps downstairs and finds Edward lying on his back on the floor, one of Esme's prized vases in pieces around him. He holds a shard of it in his hand, staring at the fragment of the elaborate pattern that had been painted on it. He doesn't know she's there until she's right next to him, when she steps on a particularly creaky floorboard.

"Rosalie," he says, his voice husky and unsteady.

"Edward," she says, trying to hide the nervousness in hers.

"I broke it," he mumbles, barely audible. "Esme's g'na kill me…"

"I'm sure she'll only be a little mad. She seems to have a soft spot for you."

Edward drops the piece and stares up past her, at the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face. He shakes his head very fast.

"Will you help me up?" he asks, extending a hand towards her.

Now, Rosalie can't imagine why she was ever afraid of him. Drunk as he is, he's just a boy. He's thin (no doubt from the illness that killed him) and awkward and entirely helpless. He can't even stand up on his own. She wonders how much he had to drink to get like this, and where he even got his booze from. And she wonders why, why he does this to himself.

He's drowning, she realizes. He's drowning in the drink and he doesn't want anyone to save him, even as he reaches up to her, asking for help.

Rosalie takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. He almost falls again but steadies himself, still tightly gripping her hand, his only lifeline.

"I'm sorry," he says. He speaks slowly, slurring his words. "I'm sorry about… me. I know you hate me, and I don't blame you. I hate me too."

"I can tell."

He wipes his eyes and looks at her, staring hard, as if he's looking for something in her face (and she stares back, not looking for anything in him because she doesn't expect to find anything).

"I know what you're thinking about doing," he says. "I know what you're thinking. I've heard it. I swear, I don't mean to eavesdrop. This gift isn't something I… like having. Not all the time." He taps his temple. "It's loud. Can you imagine listening to everything everyone has to say? All the time? All at once? I've heard so much I never wanted to hear, never needed to hear. Drinking? Drinking makes it quiet. Just a little bit, just for a little while."

Edward finally lets go of her hand and steps back. She worries he's going to fall again, but he just stumbles a little and stays upright. He looks down at his hand, rubs his palms and inspects his fingers.

"I've killed people," he says. "Lots of people. I'd lived with Carlisle ever since he turned me, and I did what he told me but I wasn't sure it was right for me. I knew it wasn't the only way. Killing people's not good, but not everyone is good."

Edward looks Rosalie dead in the eyes, his demeanor turning very serious. She knows exactly what he means.

"Not everyone is good," he repeats. "Some of 'em deserve to die. You know that. I can see it. I can hear it. And I will tell you this."

He steps forward jabbing one finger at her, just inches away from her face. She flinches back and freezes, scared. A knee-jerk reaction.

When he speaks, his voice is almost a growl.

"If you don't go kill those bastards, I'll do it for you. I did it once, I did it a thousand times, and I'd do it again."

With that, he turns and walks away, dragging himself upstairs to his room. Rosalie hears the door close, and she hears him collapse on his bed. He'll stay there until he sobers up. She stares at the broken vase. She should clean it up before Esme and Carlisle come home (for Esme, who has done so much for her). She grabs a broom and a dustpan from the kitchen and sweeps up the pieces. There was a beautiful pattern painted on this vase. It had looked expensive, with a lot of gold inlay. Looked like it was from somewhere overseas. Maybe Asia. Seemed genuine. It was gorgeous.

Rosalie took the dustpan full of broken pieces and poured them into the trash.

She had made up her mind.

The next week, Rosalie was surprised to find that Edward had stayed sober for several days. She suspected that Esme had talked with him about his behavior, but maybe it was the conversation that she had with him that night. Maybe he wised up on his own. Maybe he realized he was being an insensitive piece of shit.

Deep down, she knew he was probably an all right guy. She quickly found out that she actually had a lot in common with him. They had very similar interests and ideals, and it pissed her off just a bit. She hated how much he was like her and how different he was from her. Despite this, they managed to get along every once in a blue moon, bonding over a good book or a new record or a fancy car. Occasionally, he would play a familiar tune on the piano in the evenings, and she would sing along.

This was the beginning of her relationship with the boy that she would eventually come to call her brother, yet it would take them decades to truly connect with each other. Even at their closest, they would still be apart, a longstanding tension between them. Maybe she never forgave him for those first few weeks of torment. Maybe it was because he frustrated her with his inability to get over himself.

Maybe it was because both of them were miserable. Both of them were broken.

Maybe it was because she wanted something from him. Comfort, comradery. She wanted someone to confide in, someone else lost and alone in this life. And he could never give that to her, because he was too caught up in his own troubles, too busy sinking down to the bottom of the bottle, a drowning man too deep down to ever come up for air, so tired of hearing everything all the time that even though he heard the people around him, he had stopped listening.

And so, Rosalie was left alone, watching the world pass by her, spectating the happiness of others. She watched Esme and Carlisle and their pure love, and she watched Alice and Jasper come along, starcrossed. She watched humans fall in love and marry and have kids and die. Never before had she wanted to die so much, now that it was out of her reach.

As they say, the forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

* * *

 **i've been having a lot of fun exploring edward and rosalie's relationship recently. i wanted to go back to the beginning and get into how it all started, how they got to dislike each other so much. while edward has pretty much stayed the same over the years, i think rosalie was definitely very different in the beginning than she is now in the present. her early days are more characterized by fear and anger, and that anger eventually gets channeled into revenge. killing royce and co. definitely represents a shift for her, so i wanted to dig into what she was like before she decided to do that**

 **as always, thanks for reading!**


	3. Things We Lost

Charlie was never happier than when his daughter came to town.

Sure, he was generally a happy guy, but Renee had done something to the man. Billy could see it well enough. That woman had ripped through his life like a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction and heartbreak in her wake. Billy loved to say "I told you so", but Harry was always there to raise a hand and silence his negativity before it went too far.

"Imagine," Harry said to him once when they were alone, just the two of them, having beer on the back porch of the Clearwater house. Below them, Jacob and Leah were running around the yard, screaming and laughing, and little Seth was watching them with wonder in his eyes. "Imagine if you met Sarah, you loved her, you married her. Imagine she got pregnant with your girls, and then up and left as soon as they were born, and you hardly ever saw them again."

Billy grumbled some acknowledgement to him. He was right; he would be just as broken up if his wife had taken his daughters and fled.

"You're too bitter, Billy. You need to learn to let things go."

If Billy had a dollar for every time Harry had said that to him, he would've been rich.

Billy's consistently sour attitude was informed by his heritage. One of his earliest memories was that of his grandfather, aged and frail, exploding into a massive, russet wolf before his very eyes. Even at that age, in that state, Ephraim Black commanded a sense of authority in his wolf form. He did not look at others as if they were beneath him, but he exuded a sense that he was, in some way, above. Billy would grow up hungrily consuming every legend about his grandfather and knowing that he, too, could be the same kind of hero if a vampire chanced upon their territory.

But the Cullen family was long gone at that point, and there was no guarantee that they would ever return to Forks. In Billy's day, there was no need for a pack to protect the tribe. Despite that, he, Harry, and the late Quil IV were properly prepared for the responsibility that could fall on them at any moment. They were taught the warning signs, taught how to handle themselves, and Billy was told that, if that day came, he would be in charge.

Yet it never did.

As he grew older, Billy was at peace with the fact that he never phased. It meant that the tribe was not being threatened. He would rather have peace than war, but he would always feel that he never lived up to his true potential. Something within him had been left sleeping and would never awake.

Now, Billy feared for his son, who would have to shoulder the responsibility that he was denied. As much as he had wanted it, he did not want to see his son putting his life on the line. Jacob deserved the same peace that he had experienced. A normal, human life. That was what would be best for him.

All of this compounded to make Billy into a man with a strange attitude at a young age. He was wise beyond his years when he was barely into his twenties, and he carried himself with the air of an ornery old man in his thirties. Being burdened with the secrets of the world would do that to a person.

But it had never brought Harry down. He was always so carefree, so happy-go-lucky. He took things as they came and took them in stride, rarely ever failing to come out of a situation without a smile on his face.

Charlie lay somewhere between the two of them, though it was being burned by the woman he had formerly called his wife that made him into a grump of a man. He was weighed down not only by the stress of his ever-rising station at the Forks Police Department but also the endless negotiations with Renee. After losing the custody battle over Bella, he spent most of his time arguing about when he would get to see his daughter.

It ended up being holidays and summers, mostly, during many of which he was expected to travel to see her instead of the other way around. This week in June was thankfully one of the latter. He relished in showing his daughter the wonders of her birthplace. So, they would go camping at Second Beach.

"Remember when we used to do this, back in high school?" Charlie asked as they unloaded their gear from their cars at the trailhead.

"I think we did things a lot differently," said Harry with a wink and a smile.

"Oh, of course, but we came out here all the time! I know this trail like the back of my hand, Bells."

Charlie ruffled her hair and she giggled. Little Bella was nine, Jacob was eight, and Leah was ten. Seth, only seven, was at home with his mother, as were Rebecca and Rachel, who were fourteen and "far too old for such childish things".

It hadn't taken the kids too long to get reacquainted with each other upon Bella's return. They were always excited to see each other. Jacob would rarely ever shut up about her, that was for sure. He bombarded Billy with questions about her that he often didn't have answers to—and neither did Charlie.

The age gap between Jacob and his older sisters was so wide that they never really connected. Most of their interactions involved some form of teasing (usually of Jacob and by Rebecca and Rachel). Leah, despite being closer to him in age, was a very self-sufficient kid and had easily fallen into the role of being Seth's mean older sister. Because of this, Jacob latched onto Bella the moment they met. He was a year younger than her, but he acted like her older brother in every sense, and she was fine with that.

If Billy had to pick any word to describe Bella, it would be meek. She was a bit like her father in that way, always letting others walk all over him. Charlie was too nice, too kind. Billy feared Bella would grow into the same kind of person, but he had no idea how her mother was influencing her on the other side of her life.

As they got everything together and started off, Leah bravely took the lead, Harry not far behind her. Jacob took Bella's hand and led her along, and Billy and Charlie brought up the rear. Charlie whipped out a disposable camera to take a quick picture of the kids, grinning like a fool the entire time.

"They're so cute," he said as he tucked the camera back into his pocket.

"Enjoy it now; they won't stay that way forever," said Billy.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Of course not. But there's no shame in enjoying it while it lasts."

Billy fell slightly behind Charlie, unable to get over his lifelong habit of looking over his shoulder at all times. He was never afraid of vampires, but he was extremely aware that they could be lurking around any corner.

Charlie, on the other hand, walked along with a pep in his step, talking to the kids and laughing. Harry looked back at the rest of them and gave Billy a look that said "Get over yourself, man. Have fun."

Jacob found a sizable walking stick on the side of the trail, and Billy promised to help him carve it into a proper one once they reached the beach. If Billy was anything, he was good with his hands, and he would pass that on to his son. In the meantime, Jake used it to fend of invisible, evil spirits.

Hiking with the kids made the trip much longer than it should've been. They had to stop several times for numerous reasons, from booboos to snack breaks. When they finally reached the beach, it was well into the afternoon. The kids were sleepy and the dads were exhausted from wrangling them.

Charlie and Billy pitched one of the tents while Harry collected firewood. Once they were finished, they put the kids down for a nap and sat down to get some rest of their own.

"When did we get so old and tired?" Charlie asked, fanning himself. "This was a quick and easy trek when we were kids."

"We're not kids anymore, Chuck," said Harry. "If we were, we would be sleeping in the tent right now."

Charlie laughed weakly. "No, we ain't."

By the time the three kids woke up, Charlie had gotten the portable grill rolling, and he was cooking up hot dogs. The kids took to play-fighting with driftwood to the sound of Billy's warnings about being careful as he took his carving knife to the stick that Jacob had found earlier.

"Whatcha cutting into that?" Charlie asked as he flipped a dog with his mini-tongs.

"Well, we're on the beach, so a whale is appropriate," he said, carefully working the knife into the wood, chipping away at it bit by bit.

The design was simple as he wanted to finish it quickly, but Billy artfully turned the knob at the end of the stick into the form of a breaching whale. When he finished, he called Jacob over and handed the walking stick to his son.

"Don't hit the girls with this," he said seriously.

"I won't, dad, I swear!" He took the stick from his father. "This is so cool!"

"I'll teach you how to do that someday."

"When?" Jake asked, his face lighting up.

Billy smirked. "When I trust you around a knife, son."

Jacob's face fell, but he turned around and ran off with the walking stick, shouting something to Bella and Leah about his new "magic staff".

"They're good kids," said Harry, watching them play in the surf.

"Yeah, I sure hope so," grumbled Charlie.

"I know you're worried, but as long you do right by Bella, she'll be fine," he said, patting Charlie on the back.

"I know, I know, but… I _don't_ know. I don't know what Renee's doing with her all the way down in Cali. And here she's telling me she might move again, to Arizona, and take her even further away!" Charlie threw the tongs down on the grill and sat back in his chair. "I can't win, Harry. It's like she's slipping right between my fingers. You'd think I'd know the law, but I guess I just don't. Can barely see my own damn daughter."

Charlie rubbed his face with one hand and watched Bella through his fingers. Leah moved to splash her with water, but Jacob jumped in front of her at the last second, sacrificing his dry clothes to protect her. Bella jumped out from behind him to make a counterattack. The three of them squealed as the spray from the ocean shot up out of nowhere and surprised them all.

Harry's normally cheerful expression broke for a moment, his eyes turning hard and serious. "You have to take what you can get, Charlie. You have the here and now, and that's all you have. Worrying about the future or obsessing over the past won't do anything for you in the moment."

Billy knew that this was directed at him as much as it was at Charlie. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes remaining focused on Jacob.

"You're right. As always." Charlie reached into the cooler behind him and pulled out a can of Rainier.

"As always," echoed Harry, his smile returning.

"God, what would we do without you, Clearwater?" said Billy, raising his arms into the air.

"Nothing good, that's for sure."

Charlie called the kids over for dinner, and they all sat around the campfire eating hot dogs as the sky above slowly started to fade into the dim colors of twilight.

Billy told them ghost stories as the sun went down, and eventually they all grew tired from the day's events. One by one, they went to sleep, Charlie even drifting off sitting in his chair. Bella went to wake him to tell him to go into the tent, but she found Harry putting out the fire, and she stared up at him as children are wont to do.

"Is there something you need, Bella?" he asked quietly.

She put a hand to her chin and looked at her father, snoring away in a beach chair, and then back at Harry.

"You and Uncle Billy take care of daddy when I'm not here, right?"

Harry was only slightly surprised to hear such a question come out of a nine-year-old's mouth. Bella was definitely capable of acting her age, but an air of maturity showed through that at times.

Harry smiled at her.

"We do, little one. We take good care of him. Just like Jacob takes care of you."

Bella's cheeks grew a little pink at that, but she smiled and nodded.

"Okay. Good."

"Don't you worry about your dad. He can be a real handful sometimes, but we've got him under control," he said.

This earned a few giggles from Bella, which startled Charlie awake.

"Huh? Whasgoinon?"

"Nothing, Chuck. Go to bed," said Harry, pointing at their tent. "You too, Bella."

She nodded again and ran off towards the kids' tent where Jacob and Leah were already sound asleep.

"You speaking words of wisdom to my kid?" Charlie asked as he stood up and dusted himself off.

"You know it."

Charlie stretched out his back and watched Bella unzip the tent flap and climb inside.

"You think she's alright?" he asked.

"How so?"

"Just, y'know… alright."

Harry put a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"I think she's her father's daughter, Chuck. And she always will be."

* * *

 **it's been a while! this little snippet is actually referenced in the upcoming chapter of addiction (which currently hasn't been posted, so keep an eye out). i think a lot about harry, charlie, and billy and how they've been impacted by their kids, but also how they grew up. billy in particular is a super interesting character, and i wanted to write something sort of from his perspective, though it falls out at the end because i wanted this to focus a lot on harry more than anything**

 **i feel like an idiot for not referencing harry's absence more in addiction proper, but it's something that might be more relevant in the future. i just wasn't sure how to incorporate him early on and he fell out of relevance after a while. weirdly, i've gotten really attached to his character lately and i wanted to write a bit of him to give him some more characterization, so there's this! billy is bitter, charlie is frustrated, and harry is just trying to keep it together for the two of them**


End file.
